The End of the World
by hermionefan94
Summary: WWII- era AU: In 1940 as Japan is on the brink of war with the US, 13 year old Tamaki moves back to France. How will the host club fare during one of the most dangerous time periods in history? And how will they manage after the war? Takes into account that the characters live in Japan. Dark and angsty. T for violence, language and character death. TamakixEclair, Tamaki/Kyouya.
1. Chapter 1

Prologue: The Prince of Versailles

**A/N: FYI, Tamaki's full name in the canon universe is René Tamaki Richard De la Grantaine Suoh and he **_**was**_** born in France. Also, warning, this will be the darkest, angstiest thing I have ever written and will involve tragic things like torture (probably not disgustingly graphic), racism and character death and I may have to switch it to M because of violence (Because I'd rather not receive death threats from overly protective conservative mothers, so sorry random elementary schoolers). If any of these things bother you, realize that they are in context of the story and do yourself a favor by not reading it. If you read it anyway and feel like flaming, by all means, do. I find criticism entertaining, but realize that I won't feel the slightest bit sorry for you. If this hasn't scared you off, then continue on, dear. PS, the basic story is based around the Tokyo war crimes trials which were an actual event that occurred from 1946-1948 (you can look on the PBS website if you don't believe me). I will include real battles and events from WWII, but details of what happens to individual characters are made up.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Ouran and I won't be getting any money for this little venture.**

"The best thing about a picture is that it never changes, even when the people in it do."

-Andy Warhol

~Tamaki~

Paris, 1958

It was a cold, miserable spring day; rain fell in torrents from a sky that was the dull, flat gray of dirty concrete, water hitting the pavement like soldiers on the march, steel-toed boots in a prison yard or an attorney's heels on the marble floor of a courtroom. Outside, impossibly chic mademoiselles held on to their hats and heels as they ran for the metro. Inside, René de la Grantaine grinned broadly as his wife absentmindedly brushed the rainwater from his tailored suit, smoothing down the grey wool lapels that now smelled faintly of wet grass.

"C'est la vie, n'est-ce pas ?" He shrugged, running his piano-player's fingers through tousled golden blonde hair.

"Peut-être." Éclair pursed her crimson painted lips, examining her husband with the critical eye of an expert stylist. She wrinkled her nose. "You'll do. Now show that de Gaulle what the future president of the fifth republic looks like."

René swallowed as he pushed open the gilded doors of the conference room _Oh Mon Dieu, don't throw up_. _Don't throw up, s'il vous plaît._ He commanded himselfas his vision exploded in a burst of blinding purple dots, his eardrums shattered with the roar of the crowd and the crash of a thousand camera flashes, like all the world's vases breaking in a single moment. "I LOVE YOU!" Someone shrieked, causing the too-young-to-be-32-years-old politician to blush furiously.

"As we all do." The commentator drawled, rolling his eyes. "Well as de la Grantaine has finally decided to grace us mortals with his presence, let's commence with the debate, shall we? Does anyone have any questions?"

"I do." A sandy-haired man in a tweed suit yelled, waving a black and white photograph above his head, the faded image showed seven good-looking boys in Japanese school uniforms, arms around each other, laughing at some long forgotten joke. In the middle, what could only be a thirteen-year-old version of the politician smiled up at the camera, inviting the viewer to come join the fun.

René took a shaky breath and forced a smile. _Could that be…. No, it isn't possible. That was so long ago._

"Tell me, do the words 'Ouran Host Club' mean anything to you, de la Grantaine, or should I say, _Tamaki Suoh_." The people shifted uncomfortably, staring expectantly at the young politician, waiting for a response, something, _anything_ that could disprove the words that had been said.

René stared at the photo, he didn't know how the opposition had gotten their hands of it, but there he was. "Kami-sama." He let out a shaky breath.

"It's a simple question." The man's voice had teeth now. _"Did you know these people?"_

The question reverberated through the air: Did you know these people? _Haruhi, Hunny, Mori, those devil twins and…Kyouya. _Of course he did. He stared hard at the photograph, and for the first time in twelve years, René Tamaki Richard de la Grantaine _Suoh_ closed his eyes and remembered.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Shattered Glass

**A/N: Evening lovelies! I'm going on vacay in Florida because New Hampshire is weird and gives its schoolkids vacations in April(Ok, I don't care who you are, no one who's ever been there is too sophisticated for Disney and…..HARRY POTTER LAND), so yay :D but I decided to be super generous and update before I went, so good me. Uh, yeah. Pertinent information you may not remember: the Houshakoujis are Renge's family and as you may or may not remember, Renge lived in Paris before she went to Ouran, so I decided that it would not be unreasonable to assume that they might have also defected to France. Oh warning, there's some child abuse in this, although that's hardly likely to bother you if you kept reading past my initial warnings. Still, thought you ought to know. I felt it **_**was**_** canon, considering what happens in episode 25 of the anime, and it is kind of relevant to the story later on. So…sorry, although from what I know of fandom members, the general consensus seems to be the more angst, the better, although this chapter is a nice fluffy break before the bad stuff. Enjoy! (and if you don't like boy/boy relationships, then don't come crying to me. It was pretty clear from the description .)**

**Disclaimer: As shocking as that may be, I still don't own Ouran. (Gee, never guessed that: P)**

"Never say goodbye because saying goodbye means going away and going away means forgetting."

-Peter Pan

~Tamaki~

July, 1940, Tokyo Japan

Tamaki Suoh was thirteen years old the first time he left Japan. Ostensibly, he was leaving to visit his ailing mother, but no one really believed that, least of all him. It was the last nonmilitary flight out of Japan. The country was on the brink of war. The Houshakoujis had left in May and now the Suohs were jumping ship as well. To be fair, it made more than a little sense; most of the immense Suoh fortune _was_ based in foreign investments, but the truth of that statement didn't stop Yoshio Ootori from glaring at Tamaki's father like he was a dirty traitor, didn't change the fact that his "Goodbye, friend" was a diplomatic way of saying "Die in a hole, American-loving scum", and it certainly did nothing to abate the raw, aching feeling in Tamaki's chest as he realized that he was never going to see his best friend again.

The blonde forced his frozen lips into a smile as he looked at his friend for what was probably the last time. "Goodbye." The word felt stiff and heavy in his mouth and for a moment he felt as if he was going to cry.

Kyouya did not smile back. "Goodbye." He repeated; his voice calm quiet, indifferent as he stared back at Tamaki with a cold, unwavering glare.

Tamaki gazed back at him, trying to memorize the details of the moment. The day was hot, oppressively so. Heat rose off of the pavement in waves, causing the air to shimmer in that way that made you wonder if you weren't hallucinating. The sky was a clear, bright blue, nearly turquoise about the edges. Tamaki wanted to bask in this moment, drown in it, roll around in it; let it slip through his fingers like the sugar-white sand on the Okinawa beach. He wanted it to last forever, but all good things had to end, friends were made expressly for political reasons, good people died every day and you made hard choices if you hoped to get ahead. _It's a cruel, cruel world, Tamaki. You're not the brightest boy, but even you must learn that._ His grandmother had repeated those words countless times as she rapped his knuckles with a fan for inattentiveness during business meetings; His father had murmured it like an afterthought, his brown eyes sad as he thought of a laughing girl with golden curls and violet eyes. _Whims have consequences, Tamaki._

"I know." Tamaki whispered. And he did; as the heir to the Suoh family, Tamaki was supposed to be calm, cold and indifferent; polite, charming and well-spoken, but at the end of the day out for himself and the Suoh family's best interest. Tamaki tried to be a good heir, he really did, but no amount of yelling, glares and lessons in comportment could change the fact that at the end of the day, the Suoh heir was the kind of boy who would bring home a stray kitten and beg to keep it; the kind of boy who would bring girls flowers simply because he thought they would make them happy. Tamaki didn't do indifferent; not when he tried and certainly not when his best friend in the whole world was looking at him as if he would like nothing more than to have never met at all.

Kyouya stared back at Tamaki, grey eyes cold, fists clenched, his normally full lips drawn in a thin, tight line. He was wearing the thick wool Ouran uniform in spite of the July heat, his perfectly arranged obsidian hair shining in the late afternoon sunlight, but no amount of finery could hide the fact that the youngest Ootori son looked miserable. Hiding his eyes behind the glare of his spectacles, Kyouya gave one last smile that looked more like a grimace. "I suppose this is goodbye, _Suoh-san._"

"Kyouya…." Tamaki stared at the ground, his voice small, trying to swallow the lump in his throat before watching his friend turn to leave. _When did I become Suoh-san?_

As Kyouya walked away, Tamaki could see the faint purple-green edge of a bruise peeking out from the cream-colored collar of his friend's jacket. _Not again. _His chest ached. "Kyouya?"

"Yes?" Kyouya didn't turn around as Tamaki's fingers brushed the back of his neck.

"Does it hurt?" The blonde's voice was quiet, almost undetectable.

Kyouya's shoulders tensed and he whirled around as if half expecting someone to hit him before remembering that it was just Tamaki. "I don't know what you're talking about." His voice was steady, but his eyes betrayed all the hurt in the world.

"Kyouya, I…" _just want to make sure you never get hurt again_. Tamaki pulled his friend into a tight embrace, and for a moment, the third son buried his head in Tamaki's shoulder and held onto his friend like he was never going to let go. A wave of guilt washed over Tamaki as he noticed the ghostly fingerprints that snaked their way around his friend's neck and wrists, suddenly glaringly obvious as Kyouya pressed against him. Tamaki could feel the pressure building in his throat, like the first time he'd had sushi and accidentally swallowed it whole; he felt like throwing up. It was all his fault. He squeezed his eyes shut as if by blocking out its source he could lessen the guilt. _If I hadn't pestered him into joining that foolish Host Club… but no, Kyouya was nothing if not intelligent. He'd probably known the consequences of his action from the very beginning- known them and ignored them. And now he's paying the price, for my foolishness._ Tamaki let out a long sigh as he looked at his friend's battered physique. He longed to run his fingers through Kyouya's raven hair and tell him that everything would be okay, but that would be a lie and besides, the third son was unlikely to take kindly to such displays of sympathy. The Ootoris didn't do sympathy, and Kyouya was no exception. Slowly he released his friend and Kyouya looked away with a dazed expression.

"I'll write." Tamaki pressed an address book into his friend's hand. _Please just take it._

Kyouya simply nodded and for the first time since they'd met, the youngest Ootori looked completely lost; vulnerable. Tamaki couldn't help it; it was like the kittens and the flowers and all the other times people were in trouble and he got yelled at for caring; Kyouya _needed_ him, and that was all it took; without thinking, Tamaki leaned in and kissed his best friend on the lips, and to his surprise, Kyouya didn't pull away. It wasn't a long kiss, or a hard one; not one of those desperate lip fights where both people are fighting for domination and they look like they're eating each other's face, but in the brief moment that their lips touched, Kyouya and Tamaki fell into forever, and when they came out again, lips tasting like longing and turquoise skies and days too hot to be allowed, they knew that their lives would never be the same.

"Tamaki!" The blonde extricated himself from his friend's embrace as his father appeared behind them. "It's time to go. The plane has been boarding for five minutes." Yuzuru Suoh barely glanced at his son.

"Au revoir, mon ami." Tamaki whispered and Kyouya almost smiled as his friend boarded the plane that would take him to enemy territory.

"…Au revoir, Tamaki."

As the plane lifted off toward the endless blue horizon, Tamaki could barely see Yoshio Ootori raise his fist and knock his son to the ground, sending a thousand glittering shards dancing over the runway as Kyouya's glasses made contact with the hard surface of the concrete. No one else even glanced back. And when the pretty stewardess knelt by his seat and asked what was wrong, Tamaki forced as dazzling smile and told her, "Nothing, princess. Nothing at all."

And that was the last they would see of each other for six years. All Tamaki had now was a kiss stolen on a runway and shattered glass beneath an endless

turquoise sky.

**Endnote: I'm going to be _that guy_ and beg for reviews. Pleaase review, Tamaki likes it and I do too. Also, shameless self-promoting: check out my other Ouran fic, Things fall Apart (please). **


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: The Sacrifice

**A/N: I'm back! So I've decided to update despite the unfortunate lack of reviews, and the massive heap of homework my teachers have given me (I can picture them all getting together and nodding sagely as they say "Ahh, the seniors have exactly fourteen days left of school, let's give them 15 million projects. Jolly good."). So, don't you feel special? Haha…yeah. This chapter gets us up to 1945 and introduces the subplot with the twins. Yes, I know that their actual birthday is in June, but for the purposes of this story, it's in February. Ummm…. Warning: it's WICKED SAD, (hence the tragedy genre). I may have gone a bit overboard on the angst, but this IS a total angstfic and as far as I can tell, people tend to enjoy that kind of thing more than they should (at least in the fanfic world). Please review even if you just say "I liked this bit", or "you suck", or decide to go all grammar-Nazi on me. Reviews are one of the main components of the fanfic writer's diet (along with people's souls and excessive amounts of Godiva dark chocolate truffles). Ok, im'ma shut up and start writing now,**

**Disclaimer: nope, Ouran isn't mine…lucky for the characters**

"Yesterday we were just children, playing soldiers, just pretending, dreaming dreams with happy endings."

-Taylor Swift

January, 1945, Tokyo

~Hikaru~

When they were kids, Kaoru hated playing war. It would start out alright, everyone running, laughing and shrieking through the Suoh mansion to save the princess Haruhi from whatever demon beast Tamaki's 6-year-old mind could dream up, but then they'd get to the fight and Hikaru, being one of the youngest and by far the most reckless, would invariably be the first to die, sending his brother into fits of hysterical sobbing. Every time.

"Kaoru, it's not real." Kyouya would explain; his voice far too mature for someone who was barely six years old. "It's a game. Hikaru isn't really going to die."

It's just a game, Kyouya had said. And back then, it was. That was 1933 and the only war Hikaru and his twin knew about was their own country's invasion of Manchuria, a glorious operation that would surely result in an easy victory. It was so simple back then. They were good, and their enemies were bad, and the war would soon be over, its only result a stronger, larger, better Japan. It was all for the empire and it was all for them- and soon it would be over. That's what everyone said. Okaa-san, Otou-san, their senseis, Kyouya, who everyone said was a Truly Remarkable Boy. They couldn't all be wrong-that's what Hikaru told his brother, so Kaoru had forced his frozen lips into a smile, tears still dripping steadily down his chubby cheeks and nodded. Yes, I understand, trying to quell the nagging fear that someday war would come to their doorstep, and when it did, he would lose his brother forever.

That was 1933. Things weren't so simple anymore. War had indeed come to Japan, and in the spring of 1945, it would come for the Hitachiin twins. This time it wasn't a game; this time, one of them would die, and even the ever-logical Kyouya couldn't explain it away.

"How could you?" Kaoru yelled, whirling around to face his mother. "We had a year! You didn't even ask us!"

Hikaru scanned the contents of the letter. The message was clear: 'The imperial army is pleased to accept the participation of Hitachiin Hikaru and Hitachiin Kaoru as soldiers for our magnificent cause. You will report to the base in Okinawa no later than February thirteenth of this year for training.' It was signed by Hideki Tojo, the letter that signed the twin's lives away. Hikaru laughed, but his eyes were devoid of humor. That was something about coming from an important family- you got recognition. But Hikaru would have traded all the recognition in the world not to have to go fight the Americans two days after he turned seventeen. Tojo didn't know how Kaoru used to wake up screaming in the night, certain that his brother was dead. He didn't know the twins. He didn't _care_ about them- at least beyond their use in the field. Hikaru forced himself to take a deep breath. His thoughts were venturing dangerously close to treason, but right then, he didn't care. All Hikaru cared about was that his baby brother's worst nightmares were coming true and he was helpless to stop it.

"I _hate _you!" Hikaru was jerked out of his train of thought as his brother stared at his mother, arms crossed defiantly. Kaoru's eyes burned with hurt and anger.

"Hikaru…" Yuzuha Hitachiin crossed her arms, her perfectly coiffed auburn hair blowing wildly in the breeze as the orange-haired boy slammed the door in her face, disappearing into the snowstorm, the tears freezing on his face as he came into contact with the harsh wind. She wasn't pleading; she wasn't even sorry. She was using that infuriatingly calm voice that adults like to use when they're dealing with upset small children. The voice that says 'I am reasonable and when you're done being melodramatic, you will come to your senses and agree with me.' "Kaoru." She turned to her other son, the mirror image of his brother. "Maybe you can make him see sense."

_Okaa-san can't tell us apart. No one can. _Hikaru blinked violently in a desperate attempt to dispel the tears that were pooling in his wide amber eyes, forcing himself to look his mother in the eye, his expression equal parts accusation and pain. His breath hitched. "I'm _not_ Kaoru." He nearly whispered, pale fingers balling into fists, flinching as the bitten nails dug into his soft palms. "I'm _Hikaru_." Hikaru bit his lip and a trickle of blood ran down his chin. _I won't cry. I refuse. _His mother was staring out the window, again. _She's not even looking at me. Does she even care? _ Hikaru sniffled as a tear escaped, burning a hot trail down his pale cheek.

"Okay_, Hikaru_," Yuzuha Hitachiin pursed her lips, a hint of annoyance in her voice as Hikaru desperately swiped at his face with his sleeve. He looked away, his face burning with shame as the tears continued to trace sluggish trails down his thin face, the incriminating drops shining mockingly up at him from the black marble floor tiles. _I'm such a baby._ Hikaru whimpered as his mother grabbed his arm, dragging him towards the dining room, oblivious to the way her nails dug into her older son's skin.

They came to a stop in front of a massive portrait of the emperor. "Tell me, Hikaru. What do you see?"

"It's Emperor Hirohito." Hikaru whispered, feeling like a child. _I know who the emperor is._ His mother still hadn't let go of his arm and he could feel it bruising. It hurt so much. "Okaa-san." He pleaded, "You're hurting me."

"Oh!" His mother let go of Hikaru's arm like it was a hot poker. "Gomen'nasai." She didn't even look at him.

Hikaru rubbed his arm. _She just forgot._ Somehow the realization hurt him more. At least if she had been meaning to hurt him, his mother would have been acknowledging his existence. As it was, she was just trying to shepherd him from point A to point B, like a heavy kotatsu table that needed moving. _That's all I am to her, just another thing in this big, empty house. Would she even care if I left? _Hikaru began to walk away.

Yuzuha Hitachiin frowned. "Don't you walk away from me, Hitachiin Kaoru!"

"It's _Hikaru._"

"Right. Well respect your Okaa-san, Hikaru." She glared at her son and Hikaru looked away as if he'd been slapped. She gestured broadly to the painting as if it held all the answers in the universe. "Look, Hikaru. You are blessed enough to be a citizen in the greatest country on Earth. Japan has given the Hitachiin family everything we have and now, it's our turn to give the empire everything we can give." There was a fanatic gleam in her amber eyes. "I raised strong sons so that they could do their duty for this empire. You and Kaoru will not shame this family. I have given the empire my sons and now you will give the empire your services."

Hikaru bowed. "H-hai, I understand." And he did. _She sold us out. _He turned to leave, swallowing the lump that was rising in his throat.

"And Hikaru…" His mother added. "I love you, you know that, right?"

Hikaru's voice was emotionless. "Hai, Okaa-san. I know." He crept down the hallway and eased the door shut- a first for the boy who liked to cause mayhem wherever he went- and walked into the night, his footsteps eerily silent on the empty street.

"Kaoru!" He called. "Where are you?" His voice echoed off of the snow covered buildings, his breath hanging in the air like the ghosts of fallen soldiers. His heart dropped into his stomach. There was no answer.

"_Kaoru?"_ Hikaru's voice held a desperate edge as he stood in the middle of the street, the snow falling frantically from an abyss-black sky. He knelt on the cobblestones, wincing as the freezing snow soaked though his pant legs. Hikaru blinked. He could barely see. Kaoru couldn't have gone far. _If he's even alive. _A sadistic voice whispered in the back of his head. _No._ Hikaru told himself. _He can't be. If Kaoru was dead, I'd know. I'd __**know**__._ He stumbled onward, the only person in a lonely white world. _I'll find him. I have to._

"Hika-kun?" There was a plaintive whimper. Hikaru found his brother huddled against the wall of the Hitachiin compound. Kaoru was shivering violently, his knees drawn up against his chest, his shoulders shaking with sobs. "I'm s-sorry." He whispered, burying his head in his knees as if he was trying to disappear. "I'm s-such a _baby!_"

Hikaru swallowed the lump in his throat. He had to be strong- for Kaoru. "Kao-kun…" He whispered, kneeling in the snow beside the other boy.

"H-hai?" Kaoru looked up at his brother through glassy eyes, the tears welling up and running continuously down his thin face. His lip trembled and he looked away, trying to suppress a sob._ He looks so lost._

Hikaru stroked his brother's hair, running his fingers through the soft orange tendrils. "Shhh, it's going to be okay. I'll protect you."

"N-n… I don't want…" Kaoru's voice was lost as his brother pulled him into a tight embrace. _Please just be happy._

"You'll be safe." Hikaru whispered fiercely and Kaoru whimpered, burying his head in the older twin's shoulder, his tears soaking into the thin fabric of the other boy's dress shirt. "Everything will be okay." He repeated the lie, and Kaoru just cried more.

In less than a month, the two Hitachiin boys would go off to war. One would never return, the other would wish he hadn't.


End file.
